Arsenal FC in Vegas- The Memoirs…
No time to spare and we thought this was going to be difficult. Our arrival at the Imperial Palace is shortly followed by a meeting of soul mates. Tim found a beauty from Vancouver and reports were glowing: a stunning body with an OK face and a delightful personality. Thompson was certain; they don’t make them like that anymore.
The Arsenal team had been arriving throughout the day and fluids had to be replenished. And so Tim decided to go bareback at 6 am. When you meet a girl of great beauty it is time to deposit some genes; a decision based on a strong foundation of clear mindedness and common sense.
And there we were the following morning at our meeting. Don and Mark regaling the heroic story of Tim’s sexual escapades in too much detail and us listening with admiration. In between Mark felt it necessary to welcome Jim to the team with the words:” I don’t know you but something tells me you make a lot of money. Yes, Jim’s girlfriend was hot and we were all thinking it and Mark could not have put it anymore appropriately.
He came, he spoke, and he conquered
As we were playing in the competitive pool of the Vegas King Cup Arsenal made a request of Head Scout and tactician Nick Jordan to find a strong physical, fit target man. We were not disappointed.
The pint sized Jose Lara is bigger than life. If Jose had not been born in Chile large parts of Europe would still be under occupation. These countries would be subjected to Jose’s one-liners and stand up routine. A horrible dictatorship. Everybody’s favourite foster child can be seen in his one man show: “ 1000 rotten tomatoes”
An 11 step formula on how to leave the hotel
1. Nick Jordan rents a car
2. Nick Jordan invites 3 friends to ride in car
3. One friend owns navigation system
4. Nick Jordan ignores navigation system
5. One friend phones Darin McKay for directions
6. Darin Mc Kay gives landmark i.e. “I can see mountains from here, if that helps”
7. That does not help (see map of Vegas)
8. Darin Mc Kay is an idiot
9. Nick Jordan becomes colour blind
10. A woman screams “NICK”!!
11. Arrival at destination
Game preparation could not have gone more smoothly. With a combined team night rest of 6 hours we have safely arrived and after prying Mark’s finger nails from the the back of the driver’s seat it is time to focus on the task in hand.
Mark and Bart centre back, speed on the full back positions, lungs in Midfield, gile up front and Don as the insurance policy between the posts. 6 minutes into the game and a loose ball in the 6 yard box is expertly played to the striker by Bart, Mark puts in a block you only see at the very lowest level of U6 co-ed and Don goes down like a cheap Vegas hooker. 1-0. After that the strategy was mainly to give the ball away as much as possible and blame Jeff for being utter shit at all levels.
Here comes the bride
Tim’s girl is a solid 9 with an OK face; this according to recognized hot girl connoisseur Mark Thompson, backed up by famous beauty queen judge Don Smith (both have since been relieved of these titles to be replaced by “biggest fucking blind morons”.
Her arrival on the scene was less than impressive. Apparently she had been running 60 yard sprints in a 50 yard gym and had developed a speech impediment in the last 24 hours. Jose observed that somebody must have accidentally set fire to her face and tried to put it out with a fork. And Tom (born optimist) concluded that she would make a good sock model.
Tim wanted to share this momentous occasion, totally oblivious of her salamander face, by introducing her to everyone like a cat that just killed and dismembered a rather ugly bird and now wanted to share it with the world. Bart and Murphy managed to muffle a “what the fuck” and became intrigued by her tongue that had not retracted into her face since she arrived. Nick Jordan, well known educator and concerned citizen frantically started to research Vegas by-laws for loop holes for screwing the mentally incompetent. Sean was forced to vacate the bar, pretending to be interested in two healthcare workers in their late 40’s with one year to live. Jose, getting a bit uncomfortable with the proximity of her toad face, decided that listening to Brendan’s UFO stories was a better option. There was really only one question remaining: Where was Darren with the supply of brown paper bags?
Drawing the line at anal
After avid deal finder Darren McKay had convinced the team to go to the best steak place in town where they serve the worst steak in town, it was time to buy an all you can eat buffet pass for $40. The entire team ended up at Caesar’s Palace for supper and it turned out that there was more on the menu than just food. The waitress was getting hot and bothered by the excess of masculine beauty and soon Drn (do you want to buy a vowel) McKay was in fierce negotiations about party favours. True to the “aim high concept” an offer of a Cleveland Steamer deposited and consequently dragged south by a set of testicles of her choice, was swiftly turned down. A compromise was reached when the entire team was offered a tiny trip down the Milky Way and Bart, award winning Salesman; reluctantly decided it was time to close the deal. Anybody that renders Darren speechless deserves a generous tip.
Why did we bring Jeff
Jeff is a terrible soccer player. We all know it. He cost us the tournament and ruined the trip for everyone. Some people were so disappointed in Jeff that they turned to alcohol. Others felt a strong urge to go to strip clubs. Most of us drowned our sorrows in gambling. Poker, Wheel of Fortune and most importantly Zeus. Darren (a tall glass of rum and coke. Lots of ice and a dash of lime) and Bart (come out of the closet already with your fucking gay jokes) decided to try to extract some money from the Zeus 2 VLT. Every bonus was greeted with loud celebrating, high fives and the raising of the glass followed by a…Yeaeaeaeaeaeaeh $10000. Most of the time they had won less than they bet, but nonetheless the VLT that Darren and Bart were playing became the most popular machine in the casino.
Climaxing on the Stratosphere
Mark is scared of heights (and Nick’s driving). Don is also a big pussy. Tim is in mourning because that monstrosity of a girlfriend of his had slithered back to Vancouver and he felt suicidal. Jose(I am not gay but my boyfriend is) was getting sick of his own one-liners. Sean was getting frustrated with the fact that every time he said “I am out here” and motioned towards the strip club, no one followed him. In summary a perfect state of mind to make a trip to the Stratosphere and ride the roller coaster. Everybody with half a brain in their head decided not to go on it…….and that left Don and Tim. It was a good thing Tom brought some clean underwear for the boys.
Rendezvous with Laverty
John Laverty: much beloved Irishman and dumbass for not coming to Vegas was remembered on the last day when the team decided to stop for refreshments at the Irish pub in New York New York. Laverty had been “cock blocked” by evil businessman MontDeanery Burns who sells campers with faulty brake lines and in his spare time pushes old people down the stairs. The gang thought it a good idea to phone John at 3 am to listen to a rendition of “Dirty Old Town”. It turned out that it was much appreciated as John at the time was masturbating vigorously to a picture of the Arsenal team which he photo-shopped onto a picture of the Vegas strip. On behalf of John, sorry about the bukkake boys!
The final curtain (or is it?)
Well boys, all good things come to an end. Fortunately all bad things come to an end too. For example the prince from Leeds and the frog, Nicks driving, Jose one-liners, John Laverty’s absence, Rod’s fake injury in the first game, Jeff’s Fake injury in the last game, Darren’s dinner suggestions, Mark’s delusional observations, Tom’s immaculate behaviour, Sean’s shitty poker play, Brendan UFO sightings, Murphy’s frequent visits to a prostitute…I mean bank machine and Jeff costing us the tournament.
Upon our return we will unpack a lot of memories. Tim will have brought back syphilis and Don will have to go for a whole year knowing that while he was asleep there was a perfectly toss able midget dressed up as Mr. T sailing of the Imperial Palace. We all saw that little bastard Don and we fucking tossed him off the roof of the hotel. While you were asleep Don, while you were asleep.
Questions remain, that’s for sure. But they will be answered next year (except why Jeff is such a shitty soccer player). While we were waiting for our connection in Denver, our trip symbolically came to an end. A freshly ordered pint of beer sat in front of Don; despair in his eyes, his fingers shaking…..and then the unthinkable. The glass taunted him and then shook him into submission by its shear presence it had defeated the Beer Rep for once. It was left on the table, untouched, unfinished………to be continued.